


Shooting Star

by yosemite_samurai



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Cheating, Desperation, Double Life, F/M, Head Versus Heart, Immorality, Infidelity, Logic, Longing, Loveless Marriage, Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Sad Kylo Ren, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yosemite_samurai/pseuds/yosemite_samurai
Summary: The mandatory Marriage Act had been in place for three months before Ben married Bazine. Theirs was an arrangement set long before any population concerns came into the question. Having a loveless marriage was the only kind he knew he'd ever have, so wedding his childhood acquaintance was a simple decision; an easy one. Besides, he never cared for such frivolous things as romance or affection. Logical choices were the only kind he ever made, and since their marriage was arranged already, it only made sense to go through with it when the law passed.But one eventful night, Rey crosses through his world like ashooting star, lighting up the endlessly dark, dismal sky of his life, and Ben realizes very shortly how cruelly the Fates like to play. It becomes apparent soon after their meeting how grave of a decision he's made marrying someone else.Rey is about to wed another in a ceremony just as formal and void of romance as his own had been. And Ben knows the logical, intelligent decision is to let it be, to stay away, to refrain from getting involved.Only now, he can't seem to find where the logic is in making the logical choice.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rey, Bazine Netal/Kylo Ren, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Shooting Star

It's a gloomy October, as is normal for Autumn. The blue of the sky has hidden behind a cover of clouds for weeks now, invoking a sleepiness in Ben. Despite the low energy, working through the beginning of the final quarter at his work hasn't been any more difficult than normal. Excepting more than the occasional yawn, his work ethic and drive haven't suffered at all. In fact, it's rather nice to have the excuse of unsavory driving conditions to allow him to work from home where he considers himself to be the most productive. Though he has his own office at work, it doesn't grant him the benefit of never engaging with his colleagues. He doesn't care for more than three of them.

One of those work 'friends' - to put it generously - has asked Ben out for a couples' dinner tonight with his new fiancee. Normally, Ben would have said no, but his own wife - Bazine - not only wants to meet the woman, but thinks it unkind to deprive Armitage Hux of sharing his excitement with them. Much the same as Bazine, Hux is endlessly seeking Ben's approval and praise and has done nearly since the day they met. The man is clearly smitten with his woman from the way he's spoken of her since the commencement of their relationship a scant few months ago. Unfortunately, his fiancee apparently doesn't feel the same.

Ben feels moderately sorry for his friend, but he also knows this is the way of things now. With only six months left to conceive a child, hardly anyone has the luxury of requited love - not that Ben believes in such frivolity at any rate, but many others do. Hux is one of those many. Whenever they've spoken of his new fiancee, there's always been a distinct air of longing in Hux's voice, hope that things would evolve over time.

But Ben's older; he has more experience and therefore understands the world better. He knows love isn't real, knows it to be nothing more than a dopaminergic attachment mingled with excitement and sexual attraction, all of which leads to the eventuality of getting used to a person enough to decide it to be safe and sensible to spend their lives together. Alternatively, two people are forced to wed due to a newly-instated marriage law, which essentially cuts out all the fat of the situation. Either way, the final result is the same.

Work dominates Ben's day until the evening when Bazine comes home, saying a cheerful hello before going to their room to get undressed for a shower.

"Make sure you're ready on time!" she calls across the distance between regaling him with superfluous details about her day, which are never much changed one day to the next. "I want to make a good impression."

Ben doesn't much care about that, but he's still not keen on being late. Frankly, he's been ready all day - having showered in the morning and dressed in a black suit to sit at his desk and work, leaving his jacket on the seat in the hallway. The only audience to his handsome attire has been the apartment building across the road from his own, visible through the large window that looms at his left directly across from his office's pair of dark wood double-doors. He's had them open all day, so when she pops in about two hours later looking a vision in a tight navy dress and carefully done hair, Ben - of course - notices. She's a beautiful woman, truly; maybe the most stunning he's ever seen.

"You almost done?" she asks, nearly bouncing in her excitement as she comes to him.

"No," he says, pushing back from his desk as he saves his work, "but I can finish when we get back."

"Well, good," she says, taking his hand and pulling him from his chair as she hurries them both out of his office. "We should go so we can get there a bit early."

She releases his hand to put on her heels, using him as a balance.

"There," she says with a sigh, looking over her appearance in the standing mirror between his office and the short hall to the front door.

"You look lovely," he says.

She smiles, still looking at her reflection. "Do I?"

"Very."

Her smile widens as she turns to him.

"I had to be up to par with my husband, didn't I?" she says, attempting flirtiness, but her nervousness squashes it for the most part.

He knows she's been looking forward to this meeting all week, but he didn't realize that she regarded it with such high importance.

"You're very eager to meet her," he notes, his voice lower and deeper in its softness.

She deflates a little as she comes to him, pressing her hands to his chest and sliding them slowly down.

"I'd like a friend," she admits. "So I'll make sure we get along."

Ben smiles, fond. "Yes, you're quite good at that."

She smiles back, leaning up to kiss him.

As always, his own kiss is perfunctory. Bazine's never too happy with his lack of passion, though he has no excuse for it except for 'passionless' being the way he is. He's never felt passion, he doesn't think.

Instead of a quick peck, Bazine deepens the kiss, pressing closer to him as her hands inch lower.

"You _do_ look especially sexy in your suit," she says against his lips, kissing him again and making her intentions perfectly clear.

Ben stops her roaming hands by taking her wrists and stepping back, breaking their kiss.

"I don't think we have time," he says.

"We do," she says, moving closer again.

Ben shakes his head, keeping her at bay. "We don't want to be late."

Bazine halts her attempts, a look of rejection and hurt crossing her face as she gently tugs her wrists out of his grip without stepping away. Ben tends to rebuff her advances unless she's in ovulation, a behaviour of his which she always takes the wrong way. It's not that he's disinterested in _her_ specifically, it's simply that he doesn't have much of an interest in sex in general. It's a nice feeling, but it's never been as good for him as it seems to be for everyone else. That's how it's always been.

"Will you ever care for me as a wife?"

Her voice is quiet, laced with a deeper pain than she's letting show in her expression. It tugs at Ben's heart. They've had discussions similar to this many times before.

"I do," he says.

"You care about me as a friend," she says, gently touching his body again, her hands drifting to hold his waist. "Not a lover."

Ben feels guilty - not only for hurting her, but also for being the way he is. He doesn't know how to change the things defective in him. For Bazine's sake, he wishes he could. He _would_, if he could.

"This is just the way I am, Bazine," he says lowly. "You know that. You've known me a long time."

"I've known you as a _friend_," she says, staring at his chest instead of into his eyes. "I thought that would change into something more when we were married."

"I'm trying," he says quietly - because he is.

He reaches for her, gently grasping her elbows, but Bazine sighs in a restrained way and steps back, her own hands sliding off his frame.

"Well," she says, resigned, "I'll just have to want this enough for both of us."

"I do want you," he insists softly. "I do. I'm sorry I can't show it better than this."

"In time, maybe," she murmurs.

As usual, she doesn't push things, visibly suppressing her disappointment as she starts toward the door, her heels soft on the hardwood. She grabs her purse and his jacket from the chair, holding it out to him. Her expression has closed itself off, protective of her feelings.

"Shall we, then?" she says.

Ben swallows the lump in his throat, closing his eyes for several seconds in an attempt to manage the guilt eating away at his stomach. When he opens his eyes, he clears his throat and moves toward her, gently taking his coat. Bazine turns and gets her black, Winter trench coat from the closet in the hall and secures it while walking to the door. She doesn't look at Ben again as they take the elevator down to his car in the parking stall.

* * *

They arrive at the restaurant before Hux and his fiancee, getting lead to their table by the maître d'. It's a high-end restaurant, all of the patrons dressed impeccably well. The conversation is soft, laced with the occasional tinkling of sophisticated laughter. Ben pulls out Bazine's seat for her before smoothing down his jacket and buttoning the top button.

"I'll go speak with the chef," he says. It's something he always does when they eat out together considering Bazine has specific dietary needs.

"Okay," she says, softening up with excitement the longer they're in the restaurant. "They should be here soon, though, so be quick."

"I will," he promises, hesitating before holding her shoulder and pressing a long, soft kiss to the top of her head.

She says nothing about it, but he can feel her relax just slightly.

Ben finds his way to the kitchen by speaking with the wait staff, who need some convincing to let him have a personal interaction with the chef. In other establishments, his requests haven't been always been listened to when transferred from waiter to head cook. Things get lost in translation, and he's not willing to end the night by having his wife in the emergency room with a swelling throat.

The kitchen is hidden behind the door at the end of the hallway that contains the bathrooms, and though Ben isn't permitted in, the cook comes to him and listens intently to Ben's requests. The chef is more than accommodating, and Ben makes a mental note to ensure the man, specifically, receives a large tip at the end of the night.

Roughly ten minutes have passed since Ben's departure, so he assumes the others have arrived now. Instead of returning, he leans against the hallway wall, hands in his pockets, and takes the moment to be by himself. He doesn't know sufficient tactics for stress relief, and given the way his evening began, he doesn't necessarily want any more unpleasantness. In truth, he's not sure he can handle it. Work stress is easy to tackle. All it involves is putting in more hours, using his brain, solving solvable problems.

Relationship stress has never been so easily resolved for him, though, especially not in a situation where his wife wants something from him he can't give, he's friends with someone he isn't _really_ friends with, and he has to make a good impression - _somehow_ \- on a strange woman tonight in order for his lonely wife to have a companion. He's not complaining about that part - he truly does want Bazine to be happy, and she's been rather lonely in his company, he knows - but the rest of it is overwhelming. He hates that he can't just fix his social relationships with logic and intellect the way he does everything else. It would certainly make everything easier.

He chews on nothing, brow furrowed, and glances down the hallway his left to make sure Bazine's not in search of him lest she see him in his cowardice hiding away from them all. _She_ isn't there, but he does a double-take upon noticing a stressed-out looking woman quite a distance outside the hall speaking to a server.

Though he can't for the life of him understand it, Ben is all at once keenly interested - a response he feels more as a powerful sensation surging throughout his body than anything else. She looks very awkward; nervous, like she feels out of place despite the obvious elegance of her. A shimmering, floor-length, champagne dress graces her frame, a perfect complement to her hair done up with several tiny baubles that might very well be pearls.

A distinct air of innocence envelops her, so Ben's sure she must be quite young, certainly younger than him. By appearances, nothing seems overtly compelling or fascinating about the woman. And yet, he can't stop staring. Something's going on within him, something he doesn't understand, something for which he can find no logical explanation. An electric magnetism begs him to look at her, as though it's locking him to her across the distance. Ben feels powerless to fight it, urged on by something out of his control. He's never known what it feels like to be entranced, but he's sure he's feeling it now.

_Who are you?_

The thought flits through his mind beyond his conscious awareness. He can't seem to pay attention to anything at the moment but her, all extraneous detail blissfully beyond his awareness. It's, therefore, quite a shock when the intelligent side of his brain kicks in and blares with alarm that the woman is weaving through tables and servers, hurrying on her way to _him_.

Ben swallows, realizing for the first time how dry his lips are, the way his heart rate has spiked, flooding his chest and neck with heat. She doesn't seem to notice him the closer she gets, rushing to wherever happens to be her destination. And still, Ben can't tear his gaze from her. She hurries closer, and closer, and closer, but just before she reaches him, she veers a hard left into the ladies' room. Inexplicably, the anticipation of her approach has him greatly on edge. He stares at the door, holding his breath, but lets it out in a rush, rubbing his knuckle over his brow.

He spends the next few minutes trying to convince himself to _move_ and go back to the table before it actually works. Forcibly resolving to put the unusual feelings behind him, he shoves away from the hall and starts down the hall back to the table. At that exact moment, the woman hurries out from the bathroom and collides into him with a soft squeak.

On reflex, Ben's hands shoot out and hold her waist, balancing her. Her own clutch his arms.

"I'm so sorr-" She stops when her eyes lock to his, blinking a few times, her expression mystified. It takes her several seconds - at least the moment feels incredibly stretched to Ben - to right herself. "S-sorry."

She has an accent.

"That's okay," he says at once. Both of them take a second longer to let their hands fall away from the other. "Are you ... all right?"

He doesn't know why he's asking - feels foolish to do it at all - but he finds he's undeniably interested in hearing her answer, in hearing literally anything else in the sound of her voice.

The woman stares, letting out a shaky exhale before collapsing against the wall at her back.

"I'm nervous," she confesses, cheeks turning pink at the admission.

Ben stares at her warming skin, his lips parted.

"Why's that?"

_Who are you?_ he thinks again.

"I'm ... well, I'm meeting rich people today and I'm not rich. I don't know how to act."

He blinks. "Because they're rich?"

Her admittance is more than a little astounding but it reveals her social class, which answers the question of why she looks so uncomfortable in the ritzy restaurant.

"Sort of," she says, rubbing her elbow. Her voice grows much quieter when she speaks next. "Rich people aren't usually nice to me."

His heart instantly feels like it's sinking. Completely out of character, he's awash with the abrupt compulsion to protect her.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says gently.

"Are you?"

"Am I sorry?"

"No, are you rich?" she says, unabashed. "You look like you are."

"I'm ... well-off, yes."

She nods. "What sorts of things do _you_ usually talk about? I don't want them to ... judge me."

"I..." He's suddenly blank, at a loss for how to respond. Maybe the problem is that he doesn't usually have conversations.

He doesn't say anything for long enough that the woman presses on.

"What's your first impression of me, as a rich person?"

"My first impression?" he echoes dumbly, his mind still locked in a distracting swirl of highly attractive thoughts about her, ones that alternate between _captivating_ and _intriguing_ and _exciting_ and _beautiful_. He swallows hard, wetting his lips. "You seem ... easy to like. I'm not judging you."

The statement seems simple and basic to him, but she stares for a long moment, visibly moved. Blush creeps into her face again and she dips her head and tucks her hair behind her ear.

"Thank you," she says quietly - _cutely_ \- and Ben releases a soft exhale, staring unblinking at her pink face while she stares at the ground.

"It's my pleasure," he says after a moment - once he regains the ability to speak.

She glances up at him, shy, and Ben can't hold back the tiny smile that her expression draws out of him. He should probably dismiss himself, tell her he has to go, do something other than stare mesmerized at this sweetheart of a woman. Her timidity is absolutely adorable.

"So what are you here for?" she asks after a moment.

The idea that she wants to keep talking to him makes his hands sweat. What do people usually talk about? He doesn't want to make a fool of himself.

"I'm ... also ... meeting rich people."

It makes her laugh, the look brightening her entire face. Ben laughs a little, too, out of the sheer contagion of the sound of her joy. He finds he quite likes it, that sound.

"Well," she says, "I'd wish you good luck, but I think you probably don't need it."

"I could use the luck," he admits with a short, airy laugh. "I don't necessarily get along with the people I'm having dinner with tonight."

"Oh. Why are you doing it, then? Is it, like ... a business thing?"

She says this with a little smile, maybe slightly mocking. But no, mocking isn't the right word.

_Teasing_ is more appropriate. He's never been teased before. People are typically far too intimidated by him to be their authentic selves, nevermind being any amount of playful with him. He can't help but enjoy it - _thoroughly_.

"No, not business. I'm out to dinner with my colleagues - my friends, I should say."

_And some random woman named Rey Kennedy or something._ He doesn't add this because he's not exactly here for Hux's fiancee, someone who will no doubt be as bland as everything else in his life. She's not worth a mention to this gorgeous stranger.

"You don't want to be?" she asks innocently.

"I don't often enjoy other people's company," he says mutedly, embarrassed to admit it to her.

"Why not?"

He's surprised - and more pleased than he'll admit - to find her pretty voice void of judgment, only curious. It feels like she's offering her acceptance of him - or at the very least, tolerance. Ben's faced judgment his entire life for far less than being socially withdrawn. Having this stranger so easily accept about him what others have considered a fault is ... a relief. That simple fact has him feeling uselessly, unnaturally close to her. It's helped along by the incredible way his entire physical being is responding to her.

_Who are you?_

"I don't really know," he tells her honestly, swallowing as he drops his gaze.

It's the most vulnerable he's been in the last ten years. Even though his truth isn't groundbreaking, it still makes him nervous to share it, so much so that he feels a rising fear when she doesn't respond right away. But then she does, and far from put off, her voice is light and unbothered.

"You must only know a bunch of boring business people."

Ben lets out an abrupt laugh, lifting his gaze to her in the same moment that she laughs, too. Her face is soft, open, interested. She finds _him_ interesting ... not boring. He's incredibly excited about this. He _wants_ her to find him interesting.

"That's more or less correct," he says as soon as he's capable of speaking without his voice wavering.

Her smile fades slowly into gentle appraisal, the edges of her mouth still quirked in amusement.

"What a shame," she says softly.

The total acceptance on her face paired with the obvious way she's enjoying speaking with him makes him feel like a kid again. He can't remember the last time he's been this engaged in a conversation. A sensation of being ignited has him flooded with a very pleasant sort of agitation, like someone has stoked his world's dying coals to bring them back to life. Is this passion? It's something new, at any rate ... something he dearly enjoys.

They look at each other for longer than is strictly appropriate before her gaze is torn away by the sudden chime on her phone. She blinks several times as she looks at the screen, reading a text message that Ben can't see. Her posture turns suddenly tense, driving away the previous contentment that _he _elicited.

She sighs and looks back at him, blinking once when their eyes lock.

"I'd better go," she murmurs, audibly disappointed.

He swallows, nodding with his mouth shut to avoid saying something foolish like, _Please don't._

"Good luck, then," she says, trying and failing to smile as she inches along the wall toward the dining area. "With your rich people."

Ben takes an unconscious step toward her. "You, too."

He stares with parted lips, panic rising as she slowly backs down the hallway, still watching him. The yearning he feels is mirrored exactly in her face, all the way until she finally turns her back and walks away from him.

Ben is stricken by the powerful, impulsive urge to call her back. Because of this, he heads the opposite direction, slamming open the bathroom door and locking himself in, back pressed to the door as he attempts to control his breathing.

Now that's she's gone, so, too, is the ability to use her presence as a distraction. He can no longer deny what's been building, what he's been feeling inside. It's nothing - it _can't_ be anything because he has a wife and he's not the sort of person who thinks about cheating. It's not like he knows the woman or anything about her after a five-minute conversation. He doesn't even have her name. His heart physically hurts at the reminder, making Ben close his eyes and clench his jaw as he drops his head back against the door, releasing a broken exhale through his nose.

He shoves away from the door and loosens his tie as he strides to the golden sink to wash his hands. His reflection looks unhinged, even to himself. He's so pent up he could break something. The reaction is mostly due to the fact that his entire being is _begging_ him to go find the woman, and instead of listening to it, he _resolutely_ resists.

"Don't be stupid," he mutters in a rush, dropping his gaze to his hands to vigorously suds up the soap. "Don't do anything stupid."

It's a passing fancy, this ... _thing_. That's all it is. As surprising and enticing and _alarming_ as his new desires are, he knows he can't go around giving them false meaning. Feelings are nothing, they're the most insignificant thing that exists. He can't go after her, he can't try to find her, he has to let this fade.

Why is that so hard to do? Why is he so drawn to her, why is he feeling things so intensely, why is this nonsensical thing _happening_ to him?

He exhales sharply again, shaking his head.

"It's doesn't matter," he breathes, the words slurred together. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter."

Though his eyes are open and his sight is fixed on the sink, all he can see is this beautiful woman with her shimmering dress, tanned skin, magnetic pull on him. Ben grips the sides of the sink, faucet still running, and squeezes his eyes shut.

That only enhances the image of her.

Minutes have passed with Ben leaning against the door again and trying to deep-breathe his way into calmness. It worked, replacing his urgent jitteriness with a distinct ... heavy ... distressing emptiness. He stares unseeing at the ground, not knowing any coping skills for warding off this oppressive darkness. It occurs to him that this feeling is something he lives with every day. So far, it's been unnoticeable in its constancy. But now that he's experienced something else, something so bright and energizing - something that felt akin to being _alive_ again - the contrast is undeniable. It hurts now ... very much.

All he really wants is to go home and work. It's all he's good for.

Ben leaves the bathroom with an excuse at hand. He'll greet Hux's woman and give his excuses of illness so he can grab a taxi and go. Bazine might even believe him with the way his demeanour has shifted drastically from when they arrived.

Despite himself, his gaze roams as he makes his way back to their table. He searches for the colour of the woman's dress, glancing at the faces of those whose outfits even slightly resemble hers. He's distracted when he gets back to the table, still carefully looking around his surroundings. He grasps Bazine's shoulder - _just_ opening his mouth to give his excuses - when his eyes snap to Hux's fiancee of their own accord. The words halt on his tongue. She's already looking at him, utterly stunned.

"I wondered where you went," Bazine says happily, gently putting her hand over his on her shoulder. "I was about to call you."

"Right," he says after a moment, moving his hand to the back of his chair to pull it out and slowly sink to a sit. "Sorry."

"Hello," the woman says then, reaching her hand across the table to him. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Rey."

Ben stares and she stares back, the shared look charged and full of meaning, but it apparently doesn't come across that way to Bazine or Hux.

"Ben," Bazine admonishes under her breath. "Don't be rude."

Ben swallows as he glances rapidly from her to Hux, both of whom appear to have taken his hesitance as impoliteness. Rey begins to draw her hand back, but Ben quickly reaches out, gently taking her hand so as not to hurt her feelings. She blinks up at him, her gaze open, and he lightly squeezes her hand. No one's ever held his interest anywhere _near_ as intensely as this ... this ... what is she? An angel? How childish. But what else could she be?

_Who are you?_

A sense of dread builds and builds until it swallows him whole, leaving him feeling torn apart in betrayal. Nothing has ever felt crueler in his entire life than this woman - _this_ woman in particular - being the person his friend is set to marry. There'll be a wedding shortly. Ben knows he'll have to go.

"It's very nice to meet you, Rey," he says brokenly, completely aware of the way her thumb grazes his knuckles, hidden from the sights of Bazine and Hux. "I'm Ben."


End file.
